Drowning
by comrade1954
Summary: (Prequel to Vox) The story of how Aviva, the daughter of a Gamemaker, falls in love and looses everything.
1. Reflecting

**The story of how Aviva, granddaughter of president snow falls in love and looses everything.**

**Enjoy.**

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The first time I meet him I am in the gardens besides Panam. I have just left Seetas house and the ghost of my smile from the afternoon refuses to leave my face. My clothes are plainer than I'd normally wear, and my face is bare of most make up. I lay myself in beneath the oak tree and let myself feel safe. I am not anyone important to the Capitol in these moments. I am not my grandfather's granddaughter. I am only Avivox.

It is in these moments of complete solitude that a tall shadow peaks over me. I jump up to find a handsome boy with blonde hair and green eyes. Many do not know me, but if they did, I would not be breathing. I try to keep the capitol lit out of my voice as I ask who he is and if he has followed me. This spot if so far out of town that I doubt he merely stumbled across me.

The does not look troubled by my questions he merely smiles lazily and replies that he was taking a walk and spotted me among the weeds. "I thought you may be dead," he says and for a moment the nonchalance leaves his face.

I keep the ends of my words downturned because I am not dead and clearly wish to stay that way. "Well, I'm not. So you can leave now."

He smiles at me and I'm fairly sure he thinks he is quite charming. His tunic is a deep jade color and made of the finer materials. I notice a blue ring on his left hand and a freckle above his lip. Besides this, I am sure every inch of him has been made perfect.

He holds out a large, tan hand to me. "Finnick O'Dair," he cooes, making his smile even larger.

The name sounds firmiliar. In fact, I am sure that I have seen this boy before. Something about his charm strikes me as false. What is not false, is how highly he thinks of himself. I am not sure whether he expects me to faint or fawn at the hand. I manage to do neither, choosing to only nod.

"And you are?" he pushes.

"Leaving," I wave as I walk around him toward the lights of Panem. I am sure that I see his face turn dumbstruck for a moment as I pass. By the time I am over the first hill, he has scrambled up behind me. I manage not to panic as he follows. He is not as pulled and plucked as most citizens, but I know this boy has gone under some knife, his skin is too perfect otherwise. He does not dress is wild colors, or wear his hair blue, but I am sure he is too afraid of Cori to hurt me. Of course, he could make it look like an accident, _as if I have fallen while climbing the old fence and broke my neck_, or _I swallowed a black berry, not knowing any better_.

As I plan all the ways this boy can kill me, I miss every word he is saying. "-met before. I'm sure I've seen you're face."

"No," I lie. "I am only a baker's daughter." I hope he does not question me on the workings of bread. Seeta is the true baker's daughter. She knows each flake of the 12 types of bread. I stiffen my spine, hoping for a reprive.

He makes an acquesed sound in the back of his throat and I manage to not let all of the breath inside of me out in relief. We continue our walk and the blonde boy peppers me with all types of questions of Panem life. I try to answer them as if I am Seeta, a baker's daughter, but still the best baker in all of the districts.

It is not until he asks of the Hunger Games that I find myself slipping out of this character. A scowl lights my face and I instantly regret it. "You don't crave them like everyone else?" The boy, I already can't remember his name, has seen the face and I feel myself let go of the façade. I train my eyes on him, noticing his strong shoulders, the way his body fills out his shirt and pants. If he is planning to kill me, he is sure taking his time first.

I am angry that he has ruined my afternoon alone, angry that I have to be so afraid and suspicious whenever a stranger a word toward me. It is within this anger that I let my carefully built walls of nonchalance and obedience slip.

"The Hunger games are barbaric," I voice and watch as his face changes into something different. "Listen, Flipper, I have to-"

"-Finnick!" He looks outraged that I have bodged his name.

"Right. I have to go," I point a finger toward him and mimic Cori's scariest face. "Don't follow me."

Not waiting for his response, I turn and jog away. I am out of breath and seeing black spots as I slip into the back entrance of the palace, weave my way up to the fourth floor, shake away Hara and banish all thoughts of Finnick.

It is not until later, wrapped in the silk sheets of my bed that I begin to compare the boy to Narcissus. I fall asleep giggling at images of Finnick staring lovingly into his reflection in the palace fountain.

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	2. Dipping

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I stare at my reflection in the mirror, not minding what stares back at me. I have been plucked and fluffed and stuffed into a two-toned, nude and pale blue, mini dress. Unlike the others, this one's necklace cuts just beneath my collarbone. The bottom resembles a tulip, as it tapers in tightly on my waist and flares subtly out. Two pleats stand in the front of the skirt, giving it volume. However, it is the shoulder's which have captured my admiration. I can hardly believe Cori has picked such a wilcard for this dinner. Each shoulder flares out and slightly up, giving the sleeves a winged look. My hair is pinned on top of my head and the pale color looks fine against my bold eyebrows.

Hera flutters over me, handing a crystal purse and smiling broadly. She stands two inches shorter than me and her hair is five times as curly. She has attended to me since I was a child, despite only being five years older. Hera is my best friend in the palace. She is also an Avox. Unlike the others, Hera's tounge was cut out for some act of her father. My blood burns when I think what was done to her. I hate having to pretend she is not there when others are in the room. Lately, I find that I hate everything about this palace.

With my mood in shambles, I make my way out to the party. It is some dull celebration marking the end of this years victory tour. I talk to a few of the stylist, who flutter predictably over my dress, and then make my way over toward the gamemakers.

My father, Augustus Murphy is standing among the group. He is frail and made entirely of wirery muscle, brown-mousy hair and large chocolate eyes. I am not sure what my mother saw in him, to defy Cori so spectacularly and fall in love with a peacemaker's boy. My eyes glaze over his lavish attire, the gold bands lining his wrists and the winged brows some daft stylist has drawn onto his face. He is far from a peacemakers boy now.

I amble up to them, and each of them give me a smile and some half-hearted remark. "Hello dear," my dad says, kissing the top of my head. "Hullo" I chirp to each of them.

Their conversation turns back to this years games and I find myself instantly restless. I did not watch more than two minutes of the 65th hunger games, unfortunately, they were the minutes in which 12 tributes were slaughtered. I try not to cringe at the image. They begin to talk about the spectacular skill of the boy with the trident, patting themselves on the back for raising some of their own money for the expensive gift. I am about to excuse myself when I hear a name I recognize.

"What was that?" My father turns, confused. "What Viva?"

"What did you just say, about the spear-thing?"

"The trident?" Flauvaus titters. I nod, ignoring how he sways from excitement. "Oh it was spectacular!" the group nods in agreement.

"The boy, he was 17, he caught the tributes in net, like fish!" the whole crowd of gamemakers roar with laughter. I try not to feel sick at what comes next.

"…And then he speared them. Ripped them open and flayed them alive." a younger voice from the back says. A man in his late twenties, with lacquered black hair and crystal blue eyes steps forward.

"Hello Seneca."

He nods and I spot something predator in his gaze, "Aviva, you look lovely tonight."

"Thank you," I nod and turn back to my father. "What was the name you just said, the trident-boy?"

His brow furrows. My father knows how intolerant I am of his job, or more specifically the games. Last year I threw a vase into the TV he had broadcasting the whole events. He learned to watch them at work this year, something which kept him away for many hours.

"His name is Finnick O'Dair. He's who we're celebrating tonight."

My father nods toward the center of the room, where a haggered old woman in pale robes and a tall, strong boy stand. I am cringing and marveling at how I idiotic I am just as O'Dair's eyes turn toward me and freeze.


	3. Wetting

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Seneca has pulled me aside and begun to sweet talk me into coming out with him later. The entire time, I force myself to not look toward the center of the room. I focus back toward Seneca. He is more than ten years older than me and still, he refuses to stop these advances. This has gone on between us for some time, him asking me into dark corners and me asking him to walk off a nearby balcony. My father has remarked that he enjoys my fire. I have remarked that I'd enjoy the power to burn him into ash.

Seneca leans forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "-day I will be gamemaker. We can do big things together."

I manage not to knock aside his hand. "I would rather not."

He cooes toward me and I control the urge to roll my eyes.

"When I am head gamemaker President Snow will jump to have you marry me."

"My grandfather does not jump for anyone." I do not mention that Cori has already promised I will never marry. _No one is worthy of your rank_ he says. _You will not disgrace me as your mother did. _It is at these moments that I worry Cori will oneday kill me.

I push aside the thought, focusing on Crane's greasy hair.

He has said something else that I have not heard but I merely say goodnight and stalk toward the nearest bar. I pick up a flute of something blue just as someone leans over me.

"A baker's daughter, huh?" I jump, jostling the substance over the front of the boy's trousers.

I grab a cloth and begin to wipe at the spot as I register his hands pushing me away. I am sure my face is crimson. O'Dair himself, looks quite flustered.

"S'orry," I mumble.

"For what?" He dips the cloth into a nearby bucket and swipes it across the stain. I am humiliated that my hands were in the very same place a moment ago. "Pretending you're a baker's daughter or fondling me in public?"

Not caring to endure anymore of this public humiliation I shrug and walk away. O'Dair is fast, behind me in two seconds. He grabs my arm and spins me around. "Who are you?"

Something ugly rips through me as I remember the game-maker's words. Not only does this boy have confidence which rivals Narcissus', he is a murderer.

I glance nonchalantly at the hand gripping my forearm. "If you don't let me go, you're going to find out."

He looks surprised before letting go and putting a step of space between us. It seems that no one in the hall has noticed the scene, no doubt the blue juice is to blame.

"If you're not a baker's girl. Who are you?"

I shrug, "I live here." Simple enough. Dozens of nobles live inside of the palace, including the gamemaker's families.

His eyes narrow. "Why did you lie."

"Does it matter." I really wish this conversation was over. I am longing for my bed and a hot shower to wash this paint off my face.

"No." A moment later he hold out a hand which matches a charming smile. "I'm Finnick O'Dair, winner of the 65th hunger games. And who are you?"

_He will find out eventually, _my mind whispers. I have seen the looks of those who I tell, as outrage and hate muddle each pleasant part of their features. My namesake alone has the ability to murder friendships and destroy any chance of romance. _Not that I am planning a romance with this shallow victor_, I remind myself.

"Congratulations, trident-boy." His eyes spark and I ignore that it pleases me.

"I'm Avivox Murphy. Daughter of Game maker Murphy," his eyes predictably darken. Because they will put a seceret lock on him or perhaps because I am reckless I add, "Granddaughter of President Snow." I ignore how O'Dair's face changes, grabbing a flute of blue drink and making my way back to my rooms. I predict I will never have to speak to that boy again.


	4. Splashing

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I really should stop making predictions. In the next two weeks time, Finnick O'Dair attends every event Cori throws. We keep our distance mostly, choosing to throw eachother glares. At the fourth event, O'Dair rambled up to a conversation I was having with Seneca and managed to compliment us on what a lovely couple we were. All of Panem knows I loath Seneca.

Two idiodic dinners later O'Dair was walking toward the gardens with some blonde stylist as I extended a foot in his path. He was so wrapped up in fawning over the slim woman's beauty that he failed to notice it and tripped over, dragging the woman down with them.

I lived on this victory until tonight, when I was speaking to Cori about the possibility of increasing Hara's education. O'Dair saunted up to us, greeting Cori with a dazzling smile. Grandfather gave congratulations on O'Dair's bravery and I was just about to leave as Finnick turned my way, "Aviva," he nods firmiliarly.

I am frozen to the spot as Cori asks O'Dair whether we've met. Finnick says yes and weaves the tail of a girl in the fields, alone, dressed in plain clothes. By the time he has finished Cori's smile has frozen. "Well that is quite a tale," he responds.

I can feel every ounce of my body vibrating with the need to move, to run. The way Cori's eyes grow cold and his smile grows larger tell me I will not escape this with only words.

Finnick also notices the change. He thanks grandfather again and asks whether he can steal me for a dance. I am both relieved to have an excuse to escape and terrified that this will further enrage Cori.

Cori says, "Of course, Of course," as if it is foolish of Finnick to even ask. It is not. Fear is eating away at my stomach.

He takes me hand and leads me toward the floor, we dance and his eyes burn into mine. " I shouldn't have done that," he admits.

"No," I hiss. "You should not have."

He looks apologetic but I ignore his eye sight. Cori rarely allows me to dance in public, doing so with a victor is practically unheard of. Staring deeply into a victor's eyes is as good as a death sentence.

Finnick fixes his face in to a pleasant smile as he whispers, "What will he do?"

"What do you care?"

"Aviva," he pulls away and looks into my eyes, "what will he do?"

It's nothing, don't think of it."

His grip tightens on my hand. "Tell me what I just caused or I;; ask your father myself."

"I'm not sure," I search the room for my father, but he is wrapped up in some conversation. "Whip me, hurt my Avox, quarantine me to my rooms."

O'Dair looks even more miserable as we finish the dance, he leads me back to Cori, deposits me with a smile and walks away.

As Cori whispers the darkest things in my ear, I find O'Dair's eyes across the room. When Cori gets to the point, says that I will be beaten for my insolence, that this is all for my own good. I flinch but keep my eyes anchored in the green depths. Cori threatens to kill me if I disobey another of his rules. It is not the first time he has said so, but it is the first time he adds the next words, _just like I did your mother._


	5. Floating

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My spirit is shattered into dozens of pieces as Cori saunters me toward an empty room. The doors open to reveal stone floors and a man twice my size. He is in a peacekeepers uniform and stands next to a tray of items.

Cori stares into my pleading eyes before nodding toward the man, "leave a mark," he instructs, "so she remembers next time."

The doors close and I feel all hope die within me.

The next two hours are some of the most painful in my life. The man beats me and every time I pass out from pain, he rouses me by waving some substance under my nose. He mostly uses a flat black paddle, which leaves tire-sized marks across my back and thighs. The worst of it comes when I see him tending to a fire. He knocks around the coals as I try to stop a cut on my leg from gushing blood. When he pulls out the long iron rod, my stomach turns. At the end of the tip is the insignia of the Capitol. With horror, I realize he plans to brand me; this is the mark Cori spoke of. The agony as he forces his knee on my back, pulls down my trousers and presses the molten iron to my flesh is indescribable. I am sure it will burn all the way through me, eat me alive with fire. Some minutes or hours later, I am hauled out of the room and toward my quarters. As I pass a shadow outside my door, I spot a shock of blonde hair and decide that my brain must be damaged.

Hara pushes the men out the door, waving her fists near their faces, as I come back to my body. I am fearful that the man has broken something in my arm and the mark on my back sears like a fire lives there. Three cuts from where the paddle stuck to my skin mar my thighs. My ribs are yellow and beginning to turn black and blue. Any way I lay or move is agony. I have just decided to lay here and die as Hara rushed back toward the door, waving something in her hands.

"Easy," another voice says, "I'm here to help."

I am in and out of consciousness, mumbling words I am not sure of as a cloth wipes away the cuts on my body. Something cold presses to the burn on my lower back and I hear someone curse. Finnick O'Dair is above me, which makes absolute no sense. I tell him so and he chuckles half-heartedly.

"I have some experience with wounds," imaginary Finnick explains.

"and creating them, from what I heard, Trident-boy."

"It wasn't quite like that."

I shrug and decide that I will never do the same action again as my body protests violently.

"You'll be okay, nothing is broken." He frowns, "they left your face alone, the burn is going to scar."

"It's his insignia," I grit out as his fingers dig into the spot on my back.

"I know." He grimaces as I made a deep-hurting noise in my throat. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry I didn-"

"It's fine. Just let it go."

Finnick nods and I notice a smudge of red beneath one of his lips. I am not jealous of the lipstick that lingers there, merely annoyed that he was getting his kicks as I was being beaten because of him.

"Has this happened before."

"It usually just threats or quarentine. He did this to Hara once."

O'Dair nods.

"I've never really violated a direct order of his though. I wasn't supposed to leave my rooms until the victor's return parade ended. Something about assassins all about in the crowd."

"Why didn't you listen?"

I smile up, ignoring the lacing of pain as he begins to work on one of my cuts."

"Because I'm not a pawn in one of his games."


	6. Swimming

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Over the next few days I was forced to attend every dingle Panem event, despite the agony of each step I took. Bruises lined nearly every inch of my body, save my face, hands and feet. Cori covered them accordingly, forcing me to pretend that each hugs, and step and jostle didn't bring tears to my eyes.

My father, having never been told of the beating, merely thought I was purposely walking silly. I was glad to spare him some of the pointless anger I know would result if he found out. There was nothing neither of us could do.

Cori seemed to enjoy the pain I was in. During moments when I was forced to stand near, he would squeeze my arm, where a particularly nasty bruise lay, or pat my back over the puckered up scar.

It had taken almost all my will to not faint when he did so. He had remarked twice already how lovely I looked with my elbow length gloves and had even whispered once that _this was all for my own good._ I wondered if he said the same to my mother as he murdered her.

O'Dair at least was of some help. Every once in a while, an arm would come out of nowhere when I felt like I was blacking out. He somehow managed to hold me up and not irritate any of the bruises. We weren't exactly friends in these moments, but something had changed since the beating. Finnick himself had taken quite a haunted look since the night.

As my bruises turned yellow and the insignia began to scab, I found myself leaning less on Finnick for physical support and more for friendship. As part of my punishment, Seta was forbidden to come see me and my loneliness was becoming a fierce thing.

Finnick and I became easy friends, remarking over the ridiculous stylists and the overall grandiose of the whole affair. We often walked the gardens and sat on the balconies, staring out over the capitol, remarking at how trapped we felt. I told him of my visions of him as Narcisseus, which caused him afterward to pause dramatically at every reflective surface we passed. We didn't speak of the gearing up for the next Hunger Games nor did we mention the love bites and lip stick that constantly marred his skin. Instead, we sat together in private moments, ignoring our troubles and simply trying to make each other laugh.


	7. Diving

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Finnick left sometime later to train his new recruits for the games. Cori forgave me right around the time my father started sleeping at work. The games were beginning.

Seta was allowed to visit me and after dozens of questions, I finally gave in and told her about Finnick O'Dair. Her face predictably darkended as I told her of my beating. This heat of anger was followed by, what felt like for the 100th time, a plea to run away with her. I refused, nothing Cori would find us in hours. It was simply useless.

I didn't admit to Seta or myself the exact extent in which I missed Finnick. It had only been three weeks since he'd left and a part of me barley believed he was real. I missed our talks in the garden, or the easy way he could insult and compliment someone in one breath. Apparently, none of these aspects slipped Seta's notice. We were sitting in my rooms, the night before the tributes and mentors return when she began teasing me of my pending excitement. Despite my insistence to the contrary, Seeta was positive I was mooning over O'Dair.

"You're ridiculous, we're just friends!" She smiled in that mischievous way of hers and simply said, _alright. Prove it._

The proof started off with attending a party and had evoleved into this moment, pushed up against a palace column, with rave dust clinging to my skin and a boy's hands lingering over my body. We had met two hours ago at an underground party deep within the Capitol. Seeta had disappeared some time ago, wrapped in the arms of a green-haired boy. This boy had hair as black as coal and eyes as green as the sea. He tasted like peppermint and every part of my body was on fire from his touch. He made a pleasant noise in the back of his throat, encouraging me, just as cold air met my place and he was ripped away.

"Get off!" the boy called out. The arm which gripped his leather jacket was attached to a very angry-looking Finnick O'Dair.

I was both happy to see him and confused why he chose this moment to say hello. "Finnick, what are you doing?"

He glanced heatedly between the boy and I. "What are you doing!?"

"You told me you didn't have a boyfriend," the dark haired boy accused, starring at Finnick.

"I don't!"

He shook himself free of the hold and dusted off his jacket. The purple juice I drank earlier made me feel bold and slightly dizzy.

"Finnick, it's great to see you, but can we talk later?"

"No, we cant." He looked toward my catch of the night, "beat it kid."

The boy rolled his eyes and despite my pleas to stay walked back out the entrance we'd came.

"What the hell was that!?"

"Are you insane, Viva? taking a lover, in the palace!"

"What, are you the only one allowed to sleep with half of Panem?"

Something flashes across his vision and I'm sure he's hurt. I don't care because the purple liquid is telling me I am right.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he insists."

"And neither do you! You think I've never taken a lover? Cori will never let me marry or publically announce a relationship, he could care less about who I take to my bed."

"Unless he's a victor, right? You refuse to even let us be seen talking in public let alone-"

"What are you talking about?!"

"Snow would never let you take a victor to you're bed."

"Well, I don't really see the point to that, as there are no victors lining up for the position."

Finnick's eyes turn into a challenge. His chin lifts and he smiles that devilish smile he's perfected so well.

"What if I am."

"What is you're what?" I feel something fearful inside me as my mind begins to catch up with his thought.

"I'm buying my ticket." He takes a step forward, "I'm lining up." Another step, " I'm waiting for you."

One part of me is frozen solid with fear and shock. How had this night started with my insistence I didn't feel this way about him. For a moment, I am sure this is a dream. A dream or not, I raise my hand a trace a finger across his jaw. He shivers at my touch and I smile, not entirely sure I care if this is real.

In the next instant, I am leaning forward, each hand on his chest, pushing him back against the same pillar where I was just with another. Our lips find each other and a spark begins, deep in my stomach.

Finnick and I spend the rest of the night wrapped in eachother's arms, letting the spark heat and grow and build. I am part of him and he is every part of me. We feel and explore and let ourselves feel freeer than we have in quite some time. Eventually, the flame grows so hot that it burns us both up, engulfs us into happiness, and we fall asleep sated.


	8. Wading

**1 review so far lol. I could care less. This story is stuck in my head and needs to be brought out! Plus, if you read Vox I think you'll be curious about what went down (or so I hope).**

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I wake to cold sheets and the smell of male skin. I convince myself that I will not feel a pounding in my head once I stand. nausea sweeps over me and I fail to keep the hangover at bay. With each lame step toward the washroom I curse Seta's insistence all the pitcher of blue juice. I prettily hope she feels the same. flashes of last night come back to me. My mind blackens and muddles around the memory of a boy, I run my hands though his blue hair and feel his lips creep down my hips. I groan and hang my head. It had been so foolish to take some stranger to bed. Cori would have had a fit if he'd known about the boy. Appearances mean so much to the head of Panem. embarrassment eats at my gut as I remember Finnick coming upon us last night in the hall. I can't remember any more than the socrn on his face. Worse, I can't remember the boys name. As my stomach purges more blue juice I decide I will never let Seta talk me into the juice again.

The next few days pass in a flurry of preparation and anticipating. The games will begin and I have never felt more indifferent toward them. I f anything, I find them trying as I have barely seen Finnick due to their presence. The morning past we had spent a precious few moment in the garden. Finnick had been stiff and uncomfortable, which I no doubt attribute toward the games. Not even my teasing had hedged him out of the stupor.

Seeta had also been busy with the boy from the rave. Each time they meet, she insists I come along to meet Zed, the blue haired friend of his. Last night I nearly caved as another flash of his hands on my skin flew into my mind. Her frown as I insisted on staying in had been a deep one with a slip of sympathy. "You need some fun in your life V," she had said.

"I tried that." I had smiled sardonically," I was leaking blue for two days.

I laugh to myself now at the face she had made. The guard , peacekeeer the my right flits me a strange look. The crowd around me roars as uncle Flauvis announces the first district tributes. I try to not focus on the faces in each wagon, for fear of breaking into tears. Each one of these people are my age. In two weeks time, they will be dead. I train my eyes Instead toward the sea of people. Reds and pinks and greens seem to standout out in every direction. Hair stands on end, eyebrows raise and skin is pulled in unnatural angles. These are my people. The youth sits together, towards the back of the parade. Their colors are just as bright Though, their expressions are far more strained. I feel myself wanting to be beside them and not on this balcony. I do not belong beside Cori and the other gamemakers. I belong with my peers, fighting with plastering on a smile as our brothers and sisters of Panem are sentenced to death. Nothing about the Games

Cori stands, drawing my attention back toward the tributes. Finnick's tributes are both thin. A fishbone is tangled within the girl's brown hair. I watch her face crack and I'm sure she is crying. I feel as if I'll be sick

Cori sweeps his arm out, thanking the tributes for their noble sacrifice. Nothing about this is noble. His speech goes on another few minutes before the crowd breaks into applause. before the last of the tributes leave, I am standing and making my way toward the mentor tent.


	9. Paddling

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The mentors tent stands alone outside the arena. Dozens of victors stand throughout the tent, garnished in bright colors and adopting frowns. I find Finnick toward the back of the tent, beside a woman with grey skin and a man of sixty. His normally easy smile tightens as he spots me weave through the crowd. I ask him for a moment alone and walk away before he can respond. The murmurs around the tent grow as we pass the oncoming mass of tributes. I ignore most of their eyes as we pass. I spot the fishbone peeking up from Finnick's female tribute toward the back. I hope that she's stopped crying.

We reach a spot devoid of others, away from the tent. He stands before me, looking exactly like my Finnick and yet something is not right.

He sighs, "I need to get back, Viva."

My eyes train over toward where the fishbone girl stands beside the grey-skinned woman. The girl's face is small and anxious.

"What's wrong with your tribute?"

He glances toward her and some strange look crosses his face. He scowls. "She's about to die."

I'm stuck by a desire to punch him for the flip comment. "It's more than that, Finnick."

He shrugs, "She's not coping well."

"None of them are. But she looks ill. Her skin is green."

Finnick sighs and drags a hand through his blonde hair. One piece sticks straight on end. "It's her partner"

Her partner? I glance back toward the boy beside her. He looks wiry and relaxed. "What about him?"

"They're…" he glances toward the tent. "Brother and sister"

I'm horrified by the thought as I imagine Seta and I forced to kill eachother. Someone calls Finnick's name as he fixes his features back to indifference. "I have to go."

"Hey," I grab onto one of his wrists. "What's going on with you." I've barely seen you…."

"Avivia," he shakes his head, "It was a mistake. I can't do this."

"What was a mistake?"

He leans toward me, "Let it go Viva."

"I wont," I feel stubborn and confused.

He tries to shake off my hand, "You're being a child about this."

"A child? You're the one running away from me."

He scoffs. "I don't run from anyone."

Anger burns through my blood. "You're so arrogant!"

"And your naive."

We stand there, letting our anger become a palpable thing between us. We fight for breath and his skin is warm beneath my fingers.

I try to push the anger away, fighting for clarity. "I don't know what we're fighting about."

Finnick's own anger seems to fade. "Viva, what happened between us. It was…I'm not going to pretend it didn't mean something to me. I just-

"Wait, What?"

"What?

"Fin," I lean closer toward him. "What are you talking about?"

He is confused and then he understands something that I don't.

"You don't remember? The night I got back?"

"Finnick, Seta was pouring kale drinks down my throat that night. I remember you coming upon me and—" For he first time I wish I had asked the blue-hair boy's name.

"-The boy," I finished lamely.

This time he manages to shake my hand and stares off in some direction. He chuckles, gripping the back of his neck with both hands. "I can't believe this," he mumbles.

From the tent, someone calls his name. "You don't remember."

"Finnick? What are you mumbling about?"

His name is louder this time. I spot his tributes staring this way as the grey-skinned woman waives for his return.

His face wipes clean when he catches sight of the woman. His female tribute smiles strangley our way.

"Nevermind... I have to go."

Finnick walks off mumbling something about "_all these women." _I am watching him as he walks up to the group. The girl turns her eyes up toward him before glancing back my way. My eyes lock with hers and I realize that I still don't know her name.


	10. Dripping

**enjoy.**

* * *

Despite his insistence, Finnick's pride is clearly wounded by whatever I have forgotten from our interaction that night. I rack my memories for any sliver of information or reason why he has become so sour but find nothing. Even with his newly adopted attitude, I can't help but be happy Finnick is speaking to me again.

The night when the tribute's scores are published, we meet in the garden. He tells me how frightened his girl- _Bird,_ he calls her, is of loosing her brother. Each of the 4 tributes have decided to volunteer their lives' for the other. Finnick tells me how annoying the I sentiment was. _"I reckon they'll both die while being busy trying to save eachother."_

__I had laughed and said nothing else. I can tell how fond he is of the girl, despite his insistence otherwise. I worry he will suffer when she dies. We speak nothing more about the event that happened the night of my memory loss.

It is not until the night before the tributes leave for the arena that I think any more of the what may have happened.

I dream of the blue-haired boy's lips on my skin. His lips trail across my stomach and his hands move a path across my hips. My skin is alight. I am struck by how right this feels, us together like this. As the warmth dips down below my hip bone, A sensation courses though me. It sharp with both pain and pleasure and I cannot help but let his name leave my lips. "Finnick," I exclaim as I peek downward toward not blue hair, but blonde. His smile Is broad and arrogant as he turns back toward his work.

I wake absolutely sure that Finnick had been the one in my bed two weeks past. I am horrified that I have forgotten such a material portion of that night.

The entire walk to my room I try and fail to remember more. How could he not tell me?

I pound on his door twice and waltz in, not waiting for him to open it. Finnick sits on the bed, shirtless and confused as to why I am so worked up. Perhaps he's expecting another repeat of that night.

"Viva?"

"How could you not tell me?"

His face fixes into a frown and then into a scowl. He understands me.

Finnick picks up a shirt ffrom the floor and rips it over his shoulders. "How could you forget?"

I fight the burn of shame. "I drank a lot. I thought it was-"

"-that blue haired kid?" Finnick chuckles. His face is smug. "Like he could have done anything I did with such proficiency."

"You're so arrogant!"

"you enjoyed it, trust me. I rarely ver-"

I hold up my hand and close my eyes."Finnick," He quiets. I fight the burn of anger.

"I didn't plan it," he admits. "I saw you with the boy and just kind of," Finnick shrugs. "It was a confusing night."

I think of all the times I have watched Finnick disappear into rooms attached to beautiful women. The feeling of fire and hate that has always burned through me at that sight. I have pushed aside the knowing, not wanting to ruin what was between us.

"It happens to me too you know," I train my eyes at a spot on the opposite wall. "When you leave with _them_."

Our eyes meet and time seems to stop. Finnick knows who I'm speaking about. We stand there, staring at each other without anymore words.

I slip out the door a moment later without any other words between us. I feel small and foolish for what just had occurred. In those moments of silence that I love him. As a friend or lover I am not sure. I am in love with the least monogamous man in the Capitol.


End file.
